


The Worst Blind Date

by Andromache_42



Series: My SPN ABO Bingo 2018 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Blind Date, Bottom Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Food, Knotting, M/M, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Referenced Mpreg, Smut, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 08:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15068978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromache_42/pseuds/Andromache_42
Summary: “Dean, please, c’mon!”“I said no, Charlie.”“Please? For me?”“So, what, you’re setting me up with this guy for you? Gee, thanks, Charles. That definitely makes me want to say yes.”When Charlie tries to set up Dean with Castiel Novak, Charlie won't take "no" for an answer. So, Dean decides to make the whole thing the worst blind date in history. Except, maybe this wasn't the worst idea after all? And maybe Dean realizes a little too late?Written for SPN ABO Bingo. Square: Blind Date





	The Worst Blind Date

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my first ABO bingo! Square filled: Blind Date. I'm using these as warm-ups/brain breaks for my current WIP. I hope you enjoy! (This one may have gotten a little out of hand!)

“Dean, please, c’mon!”

“I said _no_ , Charlie.”

“Please? For me?”

“So, what, you’re setting me up with this guy for you? Gee, thanks, Charles. That definitely makes me want to say yes.”

“Don’t be cute. I obviously think you guys would be great together. But it’s also, y’know, a favor to me. For my boss.”

Dean rubs his hand across his face, sinking into the sofa. “What did you say his name was again?”

“Castiel.”

“Jesus. What a fuckin’ name.”

“Yeah, well, he’s Gabriel’s youngest brother. His parents ran out of the popular angel names after four other boys.”

Dean whistles low. “How many siblings does Gabriel _have_?”

“There’s six Novak kids, including Gabriel. Like I said, Castiel’s the youngest, and still unattached, so his parents are hounding him hard. And I know after the whole Lisa thing . . .”

Dean manages to control the wave of regret that washes over him, but just barely. When he’d run into his ex at the supermarket a week ago it had been far more painful than he would have expected. Part of that was probably the bite on her neck and the prominent bump she was sporting, honestly, but Dean didn’t want to think about what that might mean. He hasn’t dated an alpha in a long time, and he certainly isn’t going to start now.

“Charlie, he’s an alpha . . .”

“Yeah, but he’s also a really good guy, Dean. Plus, look, you’ve been on a long streak of dating other omegas, so, maybe an alpha might be different? Could change things up a little?”

Dean groans. “I don’t know—”

“Awesome! You’re the best! I’ll tell Gabe to let Castiel know to contact you!”

“Wait, Charlie, I didn’t say yes—”

“Later, Dean!”

The empty air on the other end of the call taunts him as Dean flips his phone onto the couch. It isn’t that he doesn’t date alphas, exactly, but as a male omega there are just so many challenges and issues wrapped up in dating alpha men. Dean’s avoided the whole thing since he was in his early twenties and horny. His last alpha boyfriend had been in college, and they’d broken up when Dean said he wasn’t ready for mating and pups.

Now, at thirty-five, Dean recalls the twist in his gut when he saw Lisa with her hands resting protectively on her belly and beaming, and has a difficult time convincing himself it’s because he wished he’d put it there.

 _Fuck this_ , Dean thinks, grabbing his laptop and his beer and pulling both closer to him on the sofa. He takes a long swig as he pulls up Google. A few seconds after typing in “Castiel Novak” (which the predictive suggestions in the search engine helped him spell), he pulls up several thousand results. The top two are a LinkedIn page and an article about a new publishing house merger. Dean clicks on the LinkedIn profile, which he can only view part of since he isn’t registered on the site himself, and there isn’t a profile picture, but it tells him enough.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes, scrolling through Castiel’s resume. CEO of Perdition Ink, a Dartmouth degree in Classics, Yale Law, a list of accomplishments a mile long . . .

“Wow, what a dick,” Dean mutters, each line conjuring up more of an image of some spoiled trust fund kid with a major alpha superiority complex.

While he’s perusing what little of Castiel’s C.V. he can access, a notification pings on his phone. It’s an email, which is weird. Dean doesn’t really get emails to his personal account that aren’t spam, so he pulls it open and nearly bursts out laughing.

 

From: Castiel Novak <cjn@perditioninkpublishing.com>

To: Me <impala67>

Subject: Date Proposal

Hello Dean,

I apologize if this is terribly forward, but Charlie Bradbury sent me your contact information via my brother Gabriel and he was insistent that I contact you at the earliest opportunity. I wonder if you might join me for dinner this Thursday evening at 7pm? I have taken the liberty of arranging reservations at Guidry’s for that time. Please let me know if you are not amenable and I may adjust accordingly.

Sincerely,

CJ Novak

 

 _Wow_ does this guy have a major stick up his ass. _His secretary probably wrote the fucking email_ , Dean thinks. Suddenly, going on a date with Castiel seems like a fabulous opportunity. He grins, opening a new message to reply, plans for the date already spinning in his head.

 _Hey, Cas_ . . . he types, chuckling to himself as he replies.

 

 

“You are _not_ wearing that.”

Dean adjusts the cuffs on his dress shirt and reaches up to run fingers through his stiff hair. “Uh, yeah. Why, what’s wrong with it?”

Sam sighs heavily and fixes Dean with a glare. “Dude, like you don’t know. What, did you buy the most obnoxious suit you could find at GoodWill?”

“Nope,” Dean says, smoothing the olive green polyester double-knit. “This baby is a rental.”

Sam shakes his head and sighs. “Why are you even going on this date if you’re just going to ruin it?”

Dean slips into the cream loafers he found at a consignment shop and runs another hand through his heavily spiked hair. Sam’s a beta, and has never had to worry about all of the politics surrounding secondary gender. He’s also been extremely lucky: he married his college sweetheart, Eileen, and they have two gorgeous pups that keep him busy.

“For fun, Samuel,” Dean says, just to annoy him. “Now, get the hell out of here, or I’m gonna be late.”

There’s a small crowd gathered outside Guidry’s, which isn’t unexpected for the day and time. It’s a high-end, Cajun-inspired, French-fusion restaurant that just happens to be run by Dean’s college buddy, Benny. He was skeptical, but game for the joke, when Dean had called him to let him know the plan for tonight.

Maybe next time Castiel will reconsider picking the most exclusive (and expensive) restaurant in town for a blind date.

Dean elbows his way through the patrons waiting for a cancellation to get in, and walks straight up to the host’s stand. He doesn’t know the kid standing there in a nicely pressed suit and dark tie, but he definitely recognizes the scandalized stare as Dean approaches.

“I—sir, can I help you?” the kid manages to ask. Probably a college student trying to earn some cash for school over the summer. And it’s summer, for sure. Dean is already soaked with sweat inside his leisure suit.

“I’m meeting someone,” Dean says with a wink. “Hot date.”

“Of—of course. Is there a name for the reservation?”

“Yeah. Castiel Novak.”

The kid’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets before they fly back up to Dean’s face. “Oh! He’s, uh, he’s already here. Let me . . . take you to your table?”

Dean manages to suppress his grin as the kid tries to process the fact that he is the guy meeting what is probably one of the richest alphas in the dining room right now. He follows obediently, a slight spring in his step, as the host leads him to a quiet table near the windows at the back of the restaurant. Dean smiles politely at the host as he gestures to the table, but stops dead when he turns.

“Uh, this can’t be right—” Dean starts, but then the table’s occupant is on his feet and extending a hand in greeting.

“Dean Winchester?” he asks, and Dean can feel that deep alpha rumble from his scalp to his toes. He’s gonna kill Charlie.

Castiel Novak is fucking _stunning_. Literally, Dean finds himself stunned speechless as he stares into fathomless blue eyes in a Hollywood-gorgeous face. He’s young, much younger than Dean imagined (though he wasn’t sure how old Gabriel is to be able to judge), and he’s undeniably _alpha_. Dean’s not sure what it is, because Castiel is also unassuming in a way that just makes him more appealing. There is no alpha swagger in the way he holds himself, or how he extends his hand, palm completely perpendicular to the floor, as though to shake hands with an equal. Dean’s suddenly incredibly grateful he discarded his plan to forgo blockers. The original idea had been to appear as uncouth as possible, and not wearing blockers on a first date would have been pretty outrageous, but as a slight curl of arousal begins in his stomach, he’s thankful that Castiel can’t scent him.

“You _are_ Dean, correct?” Castiel asks, squinting slightly at Dean’s hesitation. Dean blinks a couple of times, then slaps his mask back on.

“Yup, that’s me,” he says, grinning broadly and slapping Castiel’s hand on the way to an overly enthusiastic handshake. “Nice to meet you, man.”

To his credit, Castiel doesn’t seem thrown by the strange interaction. He simply smiles slightly, then gestures for Dean to sit. He probably has to deal with all kinds of weird types, being in publishing after all. Dean will just have to kick it up a notch.

“So, Cassie,” Dean starts, noticing the slight wince at the nickname. “What do you do?”

Castiel sips lightly at his glass of water. “I’m in publishing,” he says. “Gabriel told me that you are a teacher?”

“What publisher? Any books I know?” Dean replies, ignoring the question. Castiel blinks, the first sign that he might actually be perturbed by Dean.

“Perhaps. What type of literature do you like to read?”

“Oh, I don’t read. Not books, anyway. Y’know, omega’s place and all that,” Dean says matter-of-factly. Castiel’s squint becomes a scowl.

“No, I’m certain I don’t know,” he says. “I, uh, don’t subscribe to that sort of . . . nonsense.”

“Huh.”

Dean bites his tongue quickly as Castiel full-on head-tilts at him, looking down at the menu for something to do. “So, what’s good here?”

“Um, I’m not sure.”

A silence begins as Castiel picks up his own menu, then stretches into long minutes. Dean keeps flicking glances up at his dining companion, but Castiel is absorbed and doesn’t break his concentration once. He’s intense. Dean has to stop himself from wondering what it might be like to have that intensity turned on him.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Oh, thank god,” Dean mutters, looking up at their server. He’s smiling placidly at them, first a quick glance at Dean, then prolonged eye contact with Castiel. Good. He’s one of _those_ alphas.

“My name is Nick, and I will be your server this evening,” he says entirely to Castiel. “Could I interest either of you in a glass of wine this evening? Or perhaps one of our own house-label ales?”

“Hey, Nick,” Dean says, opening the drink menu and pointing at the bottle he’d picked out ahead of time. “We want that.”

“The Beringer?” Nick asks Castiel. Castiel doesn’t glance at the menu, he instead looks to Dean.

“Of course,” Castiel says. “I’d like one of the ales, please.”

“Coming right up.”

When Nick leaves, the silence returns. Dean is conflicted. For one, he just ordered a $300 bottle of wine and Castiel didn’t blink. Then, he ordered a $50 beer, and now Dean is stuck drinking a $300 bottle of wine on his own while watching Castiel drink beer.

So, Castiel might not be a total douche, but he’s stiff as hell. Dean’s starting to chafe under the empty air, and after a while Castiel’s demeanor starts to slip. His eyes dart sideways, he licks his lips a lot, and opens his mouth a couple of times a minute as though he’s going to start saying something. He never does. Dean sips his particularly dry wine just for something to do while they wait on the food they ordered.

The caviar appetizer shows up, so then at least there’s food, but when Dean gestures to Castiel to dig in, he shakes his head politely.

“No, thank you. I’ve never been fond of caviar.”

Fuck. Now, Dean has to drink an expensive wine that tastes like feet, and eat all of the salty fish eggs. At least he won’t have to sit through the main course. The silence stretches on as Dean chokes down wine and caviar to fill it.

“Your friend, Charlie, always speaks very highly of you,” Castiel says. Dean is so surprised he chokes on a bite of the appetizer and has to gulp down wine to recover.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, still sputtering. “She’s a good friend. Good people.” Castiel nods, sipping thoughtfully at his beer.

“Gabriel is quite fond of her. I always wondered if the two of them . . .”

Dean nearly choked again. “Were what, together?” Castiel shrugs. “No way, man. It’s ladies for Charlie, all the way. Nah, Gabriel’s a good boss. Kind of a dick, but you expect that from a tech mogul.”

“Or a publishing executive?”

Dean stares for a moment, caught in those deep blue eyes, sparkling with something Dean can’t place. Finally paying real attention to Castiel, he notices the subtle scent that’s been filling their space. It’s slightly spicy, sandalwood-y, maybe. Vanilla musk undertones. It’s some of the most pleasant cologne Dean’s ever smelled.

The spell is finally broken as Nick returns with their entrees. As he’d discussed with Benny, he gets the steak when he’d ordered lobster, while Castiel gets a modestly-portioned dinner salad. It takes Dean a second to get into gear to set the plan back in motion. Dean shivers, suddenly pushing away a strange thrill of guilt at throwing a fit in Benny’s restaurant, but Benny had been cool with it as long as Dean doesn’t make _too_ big of a scene.

“What the fuck is this?”

Nick and Castiel’s gazes snap to Dean. Nick looks furious, Castiel concerned. Dean turns his attention to Nick.

“Your order, sir,” Nick oozes. Dean picks up his fork, making Nick step back a bit. It gives Dean a little satisfaction that the asshole is afraid of him.

“No, it isn’t. ‘Cause this looks like steak to me, and I ordered the fucking _lobster_ ,” he hisses, stabbing the steak with the fork. He kind of wants to cry because the fork sinks right in, parting buttery meat that smells divine. Maybe he can talk Benny into something to go after this.

“There’s no need to be rude,” Nick says. “It was simply a mix-up in the kitchen—”

“Oh, fuck this. This is ridiculous. Is your kitchen staff incompetent? They have one fucking job!”

“Sir, really, there’s no need to raise your voice!”

“Oh yeah? Well, I think there is a need. I think you need to get your ass back in the kitchen and fix it!”

“I—of course, I can—”

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes, tossing his napkin down on the table. “You know what, never mind. I don’t think I want to eat anything here, anyway.” He stands, looking down at Castiel, and freezes. Castiel isn’t looking at him with disgust, or pity, or confusion. He’s not even ignoring Dean’s outburst. The look in Castiel’s eyes is such extreme disappointment that it nearly takes Dean’s breath away. Nick’s sputtering tears Dean out of the moment.

“Yeah, eat the fucking steak yourself, you knot-head asshole,” Dean spits at Nick, turning and storming out of restaurant.

Somehow, he thinks in the back of his mind, that wasn’t nearly as fun as he’d thought it would be.

 

 

“DEAN WINCHESTER YOU ARE A COMPLETE _DICK_.”

Dean knew he was in for it when he took the call from Charlie, so he was holding his phone away from his ear in preparation. Still, her shrill voice grated as he waited for her tirade to finish.

“What do you want, Charlie? I told you I didn’t want to go out with him.”

“And I told you this was a favor for my boss! You couldn’t have just gone with it? Did you have to go all out to be a complete asshole?”

Dean winces. “I dunno what you mean. I was charming as hell.”

He could hear her glare through the phone. “I talked to Benny, Dean.”

 _Oh_. “Oh.”

“Cas is actually a really nice guy, Dean.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“I keep repeating it because apparently it isn’t sinking into that incredibly thick skull of yours.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip, guilty despite himself. “I didn’t want to go, Charlie.”

“You could’ve just told him no, then. Why the big scheme?”

Dean sighs. “I dunno. Just . . . don’t set me up anymore, ‘kay?”

Charlie’s silent for a moment, but mercifully gives up the subject. “I love you,” she says, sighing. Dean chuckles.

“I know.”

 

*****

 

As the summer wanes, Dean starts the countdown to school starting again. He’s gotta plan for new courses this fall; they started a film studies class that he added to his schedule this year, and he needs to come up with a whole curriculum. He also spends time with Sam, Eileen, and the pups, doing domestic family shit like picnics in the park that go so late they spend twilight gathering fireflies. When little Mary falls asleep against his shoulder on the walk back to the car, Dean pretends the ache in his core is just part of the overwhelming love he has for his family.

For some reason, he smells sandalwood everywhere he goes. Most strangers on the street wear blockers, like Dean does, like everyone does, but sometimes he’ll catch a whiff of it and nearly follow it. Stores seem to favor it in their air fresheners, and the hippie store just around the corner from his apartment reeks of it. One night he comes home with a vanilla air freshener, and his entire apartment smells like it before he finally realizes what’s going on and unplugs the stupid thing from the wall.

And he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about Castiel, but fuck if he doesn’t wake up one morning hard enough to pound nails, slick in his pajama pants like he hasn’t been since he was a teenager after an incredibly sensual dream involving the alpha.

And he definitely doesn’t roll over to stroke himself with his own slick, moaning Castiel’s name into his fist.

He never received another email after the date he sabotaged, so Dean figures he’ll probably never see him again, anyway.

“Hey, come to the picnic with me.”

Dean glances over at Charlie where she sits on the sofa, legs crossed and a huge bowl of ice cream in her hands. They’re re-watching _Firefly_ for the millionth time, midway through their traditional debate over Malcolm Reynolds’ secondary gender (Whedon never stated, but Fillion hinted pretty heavily in interviews that the legendary captain is an omega, which Dean thinks is what makes him so bad-ass). Dean reaches over to pause the DVD before leveling Charlie with a Look. She throws her hands in the air, nearly upsetting her ice cream bowl.

“No set-ups! It’s supposed to be CandyCorp friends and family, and since I really don’t have any of the latter, I figure I should load up some of the former to bring. I invited Saileen and the pups, too.”

Dean rolls his eyes at her nickname for his brother and sister-in-law, but relents. “Will there be food?”

“Better,” she says, leaning forward and wiggling her eyebrows. “There will be _pie_.”

 

 

It’s fucking hot outside, because it’s August, but Dean still got roped into playing a game of tag with Mary, Patrick, and a handful of other pups their age around the fringes of the CandyCorp picnic. He’d been losing on purpose for a few rounds before a few of the older pups decided he’d function better as “base,” so now he’s just standing still while pups fight to get their hands on him to be “safe.” A couple of Charlie’s coworkers and their spouses have joined in the game, too, chasing their own pups around the open park space. Sam is trying to chase after Mary without trampling the small children, so Dean watches as he trips over his own feet, falling face down into the grass. Dean throws back his head and laughs, and a few of the pups surrounding him dissolve into giggles.

“Your brother is quite graceful.”

Dean jumps at the gravelly voice suddenly nearby, turning to find himself looking into startlingly blue eyes he thought he’d never see again. Castiel looks good, maybe even better than he had during their date. He’s got good color in his skin from the sun, dark hair in disarray, a plain t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and thick thighs encased in flattering cotton chinos. Dean swallows against a lump in his throat as Castiel’s sandalwood-and-vanilla cologne wafts toward him.

“He’s a giant moose is what he is,” pipes Charlie, popping up next to Dean. Castiel looked at her and smiled, but Dean couldn’t look away from him.

“You’ve met Sam?” Dean asks. Castiel turns back to look at him, giving Dean that strangely adorable head tilt.

“Yes. We met at the company Christmas party. I don’t believe you were able to attend.”

It’s true. Charlie had invited him, but that was when he was clinging to his relationship with Lisa, so he’d spent the holiday with her family. It had been an unmitigated disaster; her traditional father hated the fact that a beautiful omega like Lisa was dating another omega like Dean. It hadn’t taken her long to decide she was done with him and move on to her stable, reliable beta mate.

“Dean? Are you all right?”

Dean blinks to find Castiel gazing at him with concern. He slaps on his signature smile.

“Yeah, man, I’m good.”

An awkward silence descends on all of them. Eventually, Charlie clears her throat and says, “Well, I, uh—I’m gonna go over there.”

Dean watches the pups chase each other for a moment before Castiel finally speaks.

“You’re very good with them.”

Dean glances at him. “What, the pups?” Castiel nods.

“Yes. You’re very . . . natural with them.” Dean scoffs.

“Why? ‘Cause I’m an omega? Dude, you’re not seriously suggesting what I think you are?”

“No, I—I’m not . . .”

“Because I can tell you right now, buddy, that just ‘cause you’re an alpha doesn’t mean you can assume shit about me.”

“You are incredibly argumentative.” Dean laughs.

“Yeah, well, you try living as an omega with asshole knot-heads trying to tell you what to do all the time.”

Castiel considers him for a moment. “Is that what you believe of me?” he asks quietly.

“I dunno, you don’t really talk much.”

“You hardly let anyone get a word in edge-wise.”

“Listen, buddy—” Dean says, wheeling on Castiel, but when he turns there is a slightly amused twinkle in his shining blue eyes. “Are you . . . wait, are you _teasing me_?”

Castiel tilts his head. “You are mystifying, Dean Winchester. First, that ridiculous performance at dinner, now you assume that any alpha who points out a positive characteristic in you is attempting to undermine your independence. I’m . . . unsure of what our interactions indicate.”

Dean scuffs his toe in the dirt. “Yeah, I, uh, wanted to apologize. For dinner. That was really shitty of me.”

“Oh, so you don’t normally wear leisure suits in appalling colors?”

“Or cuss out unsuspecting waiters, yeah. I, uh, I wasn’t in a good . . . I’m sorry, man.”

Castiel considers him. “Apology accepted.” Dean laughs.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Like birds flocking, they move together back toward the picnic, gravitating toward each other. That damn cologne overwhelms Dean, making him picture more domestic scenarios, where he might have another dinner with Castiel, maybe shared over candlelight in his apartment. It makes him want to stay close, just to chase the scent.

It’s some damn good cologne.

“Dean, I would like to get to know you,” Castiel says, stiff and formal as he had been on their date. Dean recognizes the thread of discomfort, though. He’s nervous. “Perhaps you would like to join me for coffee tomorrow evening?”

“Sure,” Dean says, wanting to soothe the alpha’s unease. “I’d like that.”

They part ways after cleanup, Dean climbing into the passenger seat of Charlie’s awful Gremlin. She’s grinning at him.

“Shut up, Charles.”

“Dean and Ca-as, sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N—”

“Just shut up and drive, Charlene.”

 

 

Dean’s nervous, and he doesn’t know why. It’s just coffee, and it’s just Cas. _Castiel_ , dammit. But for some reason butterflies have taken up residence in Dean’s gut and insist on doing some major martial arts.

The coffee shop where Castiel wanted to meet Dean is far less extravagant that the restaurant their disastrous first date had been. It’s a local place, hipster vibes practically leaking out of the walls, but it’s small and quiet, and Dean orders a black coffee without much trouble. Dean has just settled into a comfy chair in a corner when he sees Castiel come in through the door, hair still a mess, a hideous trench coat over his suit. Dean waves at him, and his face breaks into a smile. It’s gorgeous, and the butterflies go nuts.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel rumbles, and Dean can’t help but smile back.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel’s smile widens. “Cas?” he asks. Dean blushes.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I can not use it, if you don’t like it.”

“I do. It’s better than ‘Cassie.’”

Dean flinches, recalling how he used it. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You weren’t the first one to call me that. It’s been my brothers’ nickname for me my whole life. I like ‘Cas’ much better.”

Cas goes to get his coffee, and Dean settles down again. This is completely different than their first date already, and it’s not just Dean’s attitude. It’s almost like something has clicked into place this time, and Dean finds himself cautiously excited to see what happens next.

They end up talking for hours. It’s well after nine in the evening, the shop closing up, when they finally leave, though Cas suggests a walk, and Dean agrees, not wanting the night to end just yet. They walk through the relatively quiet streets, talking closely and laughing. Without realizing where they are going, they end up right outside Dean’s apartment door.

“Huh,” Dean says, glancing up at his building. “This is me.”

“Oh,” Cas replies. “Did you drive?”

“No, I walked. I just didn’t realize . . .”

Silence settles again, but this time it’s strained with something else. Dean looks up at Cas, who is gazing at him with an inscrutable expression. Dean breathes deep, inhaling the musky notes of sandalwood and vanilla again, thickened in the humid summer air, closing his eyes as it overwhelms his senses.

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes pop open, and he realizes he was leaning in, almost scenting Cas. He steps back quickly. “Shit, sorry, Cas. Man, your cologne is awesome. Where’d you get it?” he laughs nervously, hand on the back of his neck. Cas tilts his head.

“I’m not wearing cologne, Dean.”

Dean’s mouth is suddenly dry. “You . . . what? You’re sure?” Cas nods.

“I’m only wearing blockers, Dean,” he says softly. “And, am I to suppose, the same is true for you?” Dean nods. “So, would it surprise you to know . . . you’ve smelled like honeysuckle since the first night I met you?”

Dean’s mouth is still dry. He tries to wet his lips and notices as Cas’s eyes track the quick movement of his tongue. The vanilla musk scent grows thicker in the air as he does so, and suddenly Dean knows exactly what that means. Heat crawls up his cheeks.

“So, what, are we . . .?”

“Scent compatible, I believe,” Cas says. “Sometimes, with a particular predisposition to another’s pheromones, blockers are insufficient to mask the scent.”

“Huh,” Dean whispers, because they’re really close now, and, god, that vanilla is intoxicating. “So, then . . .?”

“I think I’d like to kiss you now, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas moves forward slowly, gently, until his lips capture Dean’s. It’s soft, at first, a press of Cas’s mouth against his, then Dean shifts his head, seeking better alignment, and brushes feather-light across Cas’s lips with his own.

Dean is tingling down to his toes when Cas presses even further forward, insistent, then finally Dean opens his mouth to nip lightly at Cas’s lower lip and the alpha moves to simply _devour_ him.

Cas kisses like a man starved, like Dean’s mouth holds the only relief, and Dean can’t do anything but respond. He allows the alpha to take the lead, to dictate the pressure and rhythm, still chaste but escalating. Vanilla and sandalwood and even cedar fill Dean’s senses now, and as Cas wraps his arms around him, nudging at the seam of Dean’s lips with his tongue, Dean moans against him.

Cas’s arms are strong around him, one wrapped tight around his waist, the other pressing in a hard line up his back, and Dean has never felt more like an omega in the _best_ way. He grips Cas’s biceps, fingers digging into hard muscle, the thought of those arms pressing him down into a mattress flooding his thoughts, and then a trickle of slick eases from him. Cas groans and pulls away.

“Dean, I can’t . . . we should . . .”

“Would you like to come up?” Dean gasps, and Cas nods against Dean’s forehead.

Dean’s never quite sure how they manage to make it to his apartment, but then the door is slamming shut and Cas is on him again, pinning him to the door and sealing their mouths together again. A low growl starts in Cas’s chest and Dean whimpers, clutching at his back under that ridiculous trench coat. Cas pulls away to start mouthing at Dean’s throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses under Dean’s ear, down the sensitive flesh, and finally nipping at the scent gland at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Cas . . .” Dean sighs, pressing at the shoulders of the trench coat. Cas tears out of the overcoat and his suit jacket, leaving him in his shirt and tie. Dean reaches to loosen the tie before Cas’s impatient hands take over and tear it over his head before the knot is undone.

Cas returns to Dean’s lips, then, coaxing soft sounds from Dean as he traces the sensitive places in Dean’s mouth with his tongue, teeth clacking in their haste to get at more of each other. Pheromones flood the apartment, Dean’s own sugary omega honeysuckle scent blending with the deep vanilla notes of Cas’s. Dean’s hands are everywhere, trying to pull Cas’s shirt from his pants, to unbutton it, to push him toward the bedroom, but Cas is determined to keep Dean stationary.

“Cas . . . bedroom . . . we should—” Cas cuts him off by lifting Dean into his arms and heading toward the hallway. Dean groans, wrapping his legs around the alpha’s waist, leaning down to suck an ear lobe into his mouth, laving the sensitive skin behind Cas’s ear with his tongue. Cas inhales sharply, dropping Dean in order to bare his throat and shove Dean’s nose directly into his scent gland. Dean breathes deeply, nipping at the gland, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas moans, hands pressing under Dean’s waistband, grasping for his ass. Dean arches his back, pushing himself into Cas’s hands. “Dean, where?”

“This way,” Dean says, stumbling into his bedroom just to their right, flipping on the lights while stripping off his shirt. “Too many clothes,” he says, turning back to Cas.

“Yes, I would agree,” Cas says, running his hands up and over Dean’s chest, tweaking first his right nipple, then his left. Dean tugs his bottom lip into his mouth, but then Cas’s thumb is there, freeing it from between his teeth. Dean manages to get Cas’s thumb into his mouth, sucking at it, causing Cas to groan.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cas says, reaching for the button on Dean’s jeans. Dean flushes pink from his chest up to his scalp.

“Not beautiful,” Dean manages, “jus’ me.” Cas shakes his head, lowering Dean’s zipper slow inch by slow inch, his knuckles grazing Dean’s hard cock.

“You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” Cas whispers, breath ghosting over Dean’s lips. “Even your soul is stunning, Dean.”

Dean bites his lip again to keep from crying out as his aching cock is liberated from his jeans. Cas pushes his hands into Dean’s underwear to grab on tightly to his ass, kneading the flesh there. Dean is so wet; he can hear the obscene sound of slick as Cas pulls his cheeks apart and pushes them together. Dean grinds his hips against Cas’s, and Cas gasps. He feels huge in his slacks, and suddenly Dean can’t wait anymore.

“Cas, please . . .” he says, dropping soft kisses along Cas’s jaw. “I need you to fuck me.”

Cas growls at that, pushing Dean back onto the bed and yanking Dean’s jeans the rest of the way off. Dean sets about getting his boxers and socks off as Cas divests himself of the rest of his suit. Finally, he’s naked, and Dean can’t help but stare.

Miles and miles of tanned skin cover thick muscle. His alpha is clearly _strong_ , and so hard for him. Cas’s cock is just as lovely as the rest of him, uncut like most alphas, long and thick with the suggestion of a knot beginning to swell at the base. Dean wants it in him yesterday.

“ _Alpha_ ,” Dean breathes, and Cas’s breath catches. “Alpha, c’mere.”

Cas crawls on top of Dean, running his hand up Dean’s flank as he does. A tremor runs through him and he grasps onto Cas’s shoulders with both hands.

“Please, Alpha,” Dean repeats. “Fuck me, Alpha. Wanna feel you. C’mon, baby, please.”

“Dean,” Cas manages, sucking a dark purple mark onto Dean’s neck. “Oh, Dean, you’re so perfect. My perfect omega.”

Dean wraps his arms around Cas as the alpha lines the huge purple head of his cock up with Dean’s entrance. He’s so wet Cas has to reach out with his fingers to find Dean’s hole, circling it briefly, making Dean cry out. Gently, Cas presses against him, slowly easing into Dean’s eager body. Despite the copious lubrication, Dean’s arousal, and the omega’s naturally accommodating body, Cas is large enough that he has to ease in slowly, inch by terribly slow inch. Cas pushes the tip in, holding his cock steady, and Dean moans before Cas pulls back again, then eases in a bit further, Dean’s hole leaking slick around him.

“Dean,” Cas gasps, “fuck, Dean . . .”

“God, Cas, please . . . you’re so huge. Fill me up. Gonna fill me up, baby?”

Cas moans, pressing in again. This time, Dean feels the head of Cas’s cock squeeze past the first ring of muscle, and they groan together. Dean is stretched impossibly wide, nerve endings on fire at the magnificent burn, and there’s still the rest of Cas’s length to go. And his knot; how is Dean going to take his knot?

“Shh, sweetheart, you have to relax,” Cas breathes, soothing Dean. He reaches up for a kiss, gently tracing feather-light circles on Dean’s obliques. Dean kisses Cas, legs wrapped around his waist as Cas starts to press in again. Dean takes his length more easily now, and then Cas is in to the hilt, his knot nudging at Dean’s entrance. He’s never felt so full, so complete.

“Alpha,” he croaks. “Fuck me.”

Cas complies, sliding out and punching back in, grazing Dean’s prostate with that gorgeous, fat cockhead as he plunges in again and again. Dean could hardly do anything more than hang on while Cas fucks into him.

“Dean, you feel so good,” Cas pants, adjusts his hips to change the angle in a way that makes Dean cry out as Cas nails his prostate even more directly. “You’re so _tight_.”

“All yours, Alpha,” Dean murmurs, dragging his fingernails up Cas’s muscular back. “Oh, god, _fuck_ that feels so _good_.”

“Not gonna last,” Cas hisses. “Fuck, I’m not—not gonna—”

“Mmm, fuck, baby. Come in me.”

Cas howls as he fucks hard into Dean once, twice, then slams his knot into Dean, catching on his sensitive rim and locking them together as come floods Dean. Dean groans as Cas grinds into him, rubbing over Dean’s prostate, before Cas gets a hand on his cock and jerks him a few times. Dean flies over the edge, his own thin come painting his chest as another orgasm rocks through Cas, sending even more thick alpha come pumping into him. Cas crashes into Dean’s chest and Dean wraps his arms around him, petting Cas’s sweat-soaked hair as he places gentle kisses along Cas’s cheek.

“That isn’t how I expected this evening to end,” Cas mutters into Dean’s ear. Dean bursts out laughing, squeezing Cas’s knot and triggering another orgasm. Cas presses his face into Dean’s chest and groans.

“Sorry,” Dean says, smiling where his alpha can’t see it. Cas turns his head to glare weakly at Dean before turning contrite.

“I’m not sure what the etiquette is,” Cas says, all formal again. “I’m not eager to leave, but I understand that this was unexpected, so I am perfectly willing to go if that’s what is proper here.”

Dean snorts. “Dude, you’re still knotted in my ass right now. You’re not going anywhere for, what, thirty minutes?”

“Possibly. Though, depending on our compatibility, it could be closer to an hour.”

“Jesus,” hisses Dean, though a tiny part of him puffs up at his alpha’s virility. “Probably should’ve used a condom, too.”

Cas pales. “Dean, my apologies, I—that is completely unforgiveable. Trust me when I say that I am completely disease-free and will be able to provide you with recent test results as soon as I can get home to—”

“Cas, hey, it’s cool. I trust you. I just meant easier cleanup, is all.”

The look of relief is so acute on Cas’s face that Dean has to lean up and kiss him again. It starts sweet, simple, but soon turns deep, passionate, and affectionate in a way that causes those butterflies to flare up in Dean’s gut again.

“So,” Cas says when they break apart. “Might I ask if I might stay the night? If that is amenable?”

Dean laughs, kissing Cas once more, brushing sweaty curls from his alpha’s forehead. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, Cas. I think that would be ‘amenable.’”

They fall asleep together, Cas’s knot still buried inside Dean, arms and legs tangled together. As Dean fades from consciousness, warm against his alpha, surrounded by their combined scents, the potential for a future, a family, within him, he wonders if this might be what the future holds.

And, really, he thinks as he nuzzles Cas, it might be worth looking forward to after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Kudos and comments warm my heart :-) If you guys want to keep up with my bingo fills, subscribe to my ABO Bingo series! For other updates, you can subscribe to me in my profile, or follow me on tumblr at andromachewritesstuff!


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